Cessation
by gentlewinnix
Summary: Lewis can't let go. But he has to. Winnix.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Tags include: Canon Era, Post-War, Post-Break Up, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Moving On.

* * *

_1951 _

"Hello?"

Lew's heart stutters in his chest at the sound of his voice.

"Dick," he croaks into the phone. "It's Lewis."

Dick sighs. It's been so long since they've seen each other. Lew is startled to find that he can't remember Dick's face - just impressions of freckle-spattered porcelain skin and auburn hair and eyes the same blue-grey as Lake Michigan. He cradles the phone to his cheek and imagines it's Dick's hand, his long, knobby fingers, calloused from years of manual labor, caressing Lew's prickly skin like he had in the nights after the war.

"Lew, you can't keep calling like this. I've got a family to look after, now."

Dick's words hurt, a pang in his chest, his stomach bottoming out. Lewis hiccups, the familiar burning in his eyes and the back of his throat returning. He lets out a shaky laugh.

"Are you drunk?" Dick's voice is tight. Lew can imagine his jaw working, face reddening in anger, frustration, disappointment- whatever it was that made Dick leave him. He nods slowly.

"Yes," he says. "Please, Dick. I-I just...I need to hear your voice. Just for a little while. I won't," he chokes off a sob, "I-I won't bother you anymore. I promise."

The line goes silent for a moment. Lew is almost afraid Dick has hung up when he hears the quiet, "Alright."

"Thank you," Lew rasps.

"What do you want me to talk about?"

"Anything. I don't care."

Dick falls silent for a moment, thinking. Lew had almost forgotten how thoughtful Dick is, the way he tests the weight of every word in his mind before speaking, never blurting anything out the way Lew often does. He starts to talk about his family, how Ethel and Jill and little Richard are, what they've been up to. Lew wishes Dick would've picked any other topic, but he listens anyway, more focused on the comforting sound of Dick's slow Pennsylvania drawl than the words he's saying. The awful feeling in his gut goes away and he relaxes, dropping down onto the floor and pulling his knees to his chest. He tosses back the last dregs of whiskey and throws the bottle somewhere. The glass shatters.

"Lew? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just knocked over a glass. She left me, Dick."

"What?"

"Divorce papers. Threw the ring in my face." Lew laughs darkly. "And the company's nearly gone; Dad had to give up 48 acres and the dam. Couldn't afford to keep it anymore."

"That's...I'm sorry," Dick says weakly.

"What 'm I gonna do?"

"I don't know, Lew. I can't help you."

"I wish I could see you," Lew confesses quietly. "I miss you, Dick."

"You know I can't," Dick sighs. "Lew...I can't be there for you and here for my family at the same time. You've got to find your own way around." He's silent for a moment. "You know why I left."

"I tried to stop," Lew argues weakly.

"No. You didn't." There's a hard edge to Dick's voice now, the one that broke Lew's heart the last time he heard it. "Did I ever tell you about my grandfather? He was an alcoholic, Lew. He drank so much that he couldn't function. Dad had to do all of the work. And Grandpa always said he was trying to stop, that it was his last drink. Just one more. And then one day he drank so much his heart stopped. I remember the funeral."

"Dick, I'm not the same as-"

"You're not getting my point. It hurt Dad to watch him go through that, to be so intoxicated he couldn't walk or talk or think straight, all the time. Did you ever think about how I felt? Did you ever think if it hurt me to see you do that to yourself? Or are you really so selfish, so blinded by your own problems, that you never once thought about how much it hurt when you preferred the comfort of alcohol over my arms, every time?"

The raw emotion in Dick's voice leaves Lew speechless, his throat burning and too tight. He blinks tears out of his eyes and flinches as if struck when Dick releases a sharp sigh into the phone.

"I can't do this anymore, Lew. I'm sorry. Good night." He hangs up.

Lew listens to the dial tone until the phone slips from his hand and everything goes dark.

* * *

He doesn't know how much time has passed. The air in his overlarge New Jersey home is stale. The smell of alcohol masks his decay. There's a nagging suspicion that he'll get sick from the lack of fresh air. He welcomes the thought.

Lewis hasn't seen daylight in so long. There's a sliver of it across the carpet in the living room sometimes, where the curtains aren't wide enough to cover the whole window, but the rest of his house is pitch black with darkness. Lew's eyes have adjusted, though, so he hasn't stumbled over something on the floor or bumped into a table in a long time.

He hadn't called Dick since that last time, true to his word. Lew thinks about him sometimes, with his wife and kids in their peaceful little house in the country. He'd seen pictures of Dick's house, the one he built for himself in '49 and '50. Dick had split each stone, felled every tree. It kept his hands busy, he'd said. Maybe you could try it, Lew.

That was the last letter Dick had sent him.

Lew finishes another bottle of whiskey and tosses it aside. It rolls across the carpeted floor into the darkness. He'd stepped on broken glass earlier, the shards biting into the flesh of his foot. He'd bled for a while and then passed out on the couch. He picks some of it out idly.

The phone rings.

He ignores it. Passes out again.

* * *

A knock on the door startles Lew awake. He sits up woozily and winces as his head pounds. There's another knock, more insistent now, and a voice that freezes him to the spot.

"Nix, open up." It's Dick.

Panic grips him. It's hard to breathe all of a sudden. What is Dick doing here? Lew moves off the couch, intending to hide somewhere and wait for Dick to leave, but the broken glass is still there in his foot and he shouts in pain when he stands up. Dick knows he's here now, there's no going back.

"Are you okay?"

Lewis doesn't reply. He's not sure what to say to that. _Am I okay? _He doesn't know.

"Lew, please. Let me in." Dick's voice is strained, like he's fighting tears. It makes something tighten in Lew's chest. He can't breathe, dammit. He pulls himself to his feet again, keeping his weight off of his injured foot, and hobbles over to the door, turning the lock.

"It's open." His voice scrapes out of his throat painfully. Dick opens the door, and light floods into the room. Lew can't help the way he flinches and covers his eyes, a distressed noise escaping him. He leans against the wall unsteadily.

"Oh, _Lew, _" Dick gasps at the sight of him, and moves a step closer, his hand extended as if to touch. Lew backs away.

"Close the door," Lew says. "Please." He's so tired already. He wants to crawl back into bed and die. He watches Dick push the door shut and stand awkwardly in the dark foyer, clearly wanting to offer comfort to Lew but unsure of how to approach him.

"Why did you come here, Dick?"

"I want to help you."

"Maybe-" Lew cuts himself off as he's gripped with a wave of nausea. He swallows thickly and continues. "M-maybe I don't want your help, Dick."

Dick's face registers shock at that, like he hadn't expected Lew to push him away. Like Lew's still calling him every night begging for his help. Like he hadn't pushed Lew away every single time and told him to deal with his own problems.

"You don't get it, do you?" Lew slurs, a humorless smile on his lips. "You thought I wanted this. Well, guess what. I don't. Not anymore. You're too late, Dick. It's over. I'm done asking for your help."

"Lewis, please," Dick rasps. "I'm...I'm sorry. I really couldn't leave bef-"

"Just go away," Lew hisses. His throat closes up and he can feel tears threatening. "Go away, Dick."

Neither man moves. Dick's hands twitch and clench at his sides, like he wants to grab Lew and force him to get better, or maybe hit him. Lew feels a sick kind of pride in it; that he's the only person who can make Dick even consider that kind of violence. The nausea comes back and he runs to the bathroom, curling over the toilet as he's suddenly sick.

There's a warm hand on his back when he's finished vomiting - nothing but whiskey and bile in the toilet - and Lew can't stop the sob that tears from his throat or the tears that run down his cheeks. He's so tired of fighting. He wants it all to be over. Dick's hand strokes down his back, and he's ashamed to admit the comfort he gleans from the gesture.

"Oh, Lew," Dick croons softly, brokenly. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please." A drop of wetness splashes onto the back of Lew's neck and Dick sniffles. Lew can't bear to turn around and face him, so he falls back onto the floor and curls further into himself. He hears Dick sit down behind him, allows him to circle his arms around him and tuck his face against the back of his neck.

Lew moves his hand up towards Dick's, tentatively entwining their fingers. He struggles to catch his breath, inclines his head and ghosts his lips over Dick's knuckles, feels Dick go still behind him.

"Okay," Lew whispers.

"Okay?" Dick's so tense, so uncertain.

"Okay," he repeats. "I'll try."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **If you or someone you know is attempting to detox, always seek professional help.

Warning for brief suicidal thoughts.

* * *

Lewis awakes with a jolt. He lies still for a moment, the fear and confusion already dissipating, giving way to a bone-deep exhaustion and the crawling, heart-pulling, anxious need for a drink. Lew almost gets up to pour another glass (the one by his bed is full of water now), but he hears something clatter in the kitchen and freezes to the spot.

It feels like old times - here, in this very house, all those years ago. Before Ethel stole Dick's heart away and Lew married again, to a bride who only wanted his money. (He'd been drunk through the wedding, and afterwards he'd stolen off to an empty room and cried until he couldn't anymore, because Dick hadn't come and Lew didn't really love her.)

Back then, Dick took Lew's drinking with grim acceptance and carried him to bed every night, and their mornings were soft and comfortable; Dick curled against Lew's back, skinny fingers brushing against his skin, breath hot on his shoulder. But times have changed and Dick has moved on without him, so Lew drags himself of out bed and runs a shower, trying not to think about the empty space there where Dick used to lie.

When he comes out, towel-clad and hair dripping wet, the sheets are neatly made. Lew is surprised to find an outfit left out on the dresser and a glass of ice water, wet with condensation.

Lew gets dressed and takes a drink, then makes his way downstairs, where he finds Dick bent over a pan of scrambled eggs and bacon.

"Mornin," Lew mumbles, capturing Dick's attention.

"Hey, Lew." Dick smiles brightly. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks." Lew drags out a chair and sits down. Dick pours him a mug and comes back with plates of food for them both, joining him at the table.

"How's your foot?"

"Oh, I-I didn't check. It feels better, though, thanks for cleaning it up."

"Of course." Dick falls silent, eating his breakfast. Lew mostly pushes his eggs around on the plate. He's not very hungry. He can feel the beginnings of a headache, and his mouth is dry. Lew reaches for the coffee instead, wishing the mug were full of whiskey. The bottles that had been strewn across the table, floor, and counters are all gone, and Lew realizes Dick had cleaned most of the house while he was in the shower.

"You didn't have to go through all the trouble," he says.

"Nonsense. I wanted to." Dick quirks a smile, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. It makes Lew nervous. His leg bounces under the table and his hands shake. Dick finishes his breakfast and sets the dishes in the sink. "May I use your phone? I need to call a few people."

"Of course." Dick nods, disappearing around the corner. Lew turns his attention back to the food in front of him, makes an effort to eat a little bit. He listens as Dick talks quietly over the phone.

"Ethel. It's Dick." He pauses, chuckles lightly. "I'm fine, I spent the night at Lew's place. I made it here yesterday afternoon."

"He's not doing very well, actually…"

Lew stops listening after that, cradling his head in his hands as a headache hits hard and he starts to feel queasy. His mind is screaming for a drink; it's been too long since his last. He's not sure how much time passes before Dick comes back into the kitchen, resting a hand on his back and speaking quietly. Lew doesn't really hear what he's saying, so he merely nods his assent.

He lets Dick half-carry him into the living room, where he lays Lew down on the couch. He's grateful for the gesture, as he's not sure he could stay on his feet much longer without his legs giving out, much less make it up the stairs to his bedroom. He opens his eyes to see Dick's face in front of him.

"Is there anything I can do?" He asks quietly. "Gene gave me some advice, but…"

"I want a drink," Lew says. "Just a little one. Please."

Dick purses his lips, clearly disapproving, but nods. "Just one," he agrees.

* * *

"Dick," Lew groans, curling in on himself in pain. "It hurts, Dick."

"I know it does." Dick strokes a hand down the curve of Lew's spine. "Just try to get some rest."

"I can't," Lew whines. He's gripped with such stomach-twisting nausea and anxiety that he can't stop shaking, and his mouth is dry, sour with the taste of bile from throwing up earlier. He'd been sweating so much that Dick had to peel the clothes off of him and wash him up with a wet washcloth. The last time Lew had felt like this was in Germany, when he'd drunk all of the Vat 69 and couldn't find anything else worth drinking.

He gazes miserably up at Dick, who manages a tiny smile. Lewis sometimes wonders how someone like him could've put up with Lew for all these years; Lew with the drinking and the whining and the inability to just _be happy. _Yet, here he is.

It's more than he deserves, but he soaks it up greedily.

* * *

It's only been two days, Dick tells him. Lew is sick and confused. He's not really sure why Dick is in his house, or why the time is significant. He thinks about the war a lot, sometimes forgetting that it's been six years, that he's in his own house in New Jersey and Dick is okay, Dick loves Lew and that's why Lew hasn't drank in two days or maybe a year, he's not sure.

He shakes uncontrollably and he's too hot, his face and his chest are burning up, and the ceiling spins above him when he opens his eyes so he tries to sleep but he's too afraid, too scared he'll wake up in a foxhole with trees exploding all around him, or alone in the house, Dick having gone back home to his family. He's too afraid to survive through another day or maybe a week feeling like this and begs for a drink, begs for Dick to stay.

"Don't go," he pleads, and Dick says he won't, says he'll stay right here, but Lew has already forgotten by the time the words leave his mouth. Dick tries to get him to eat but he throws it up hardly ten minutes later, so Dick presses a glass of cool water to his lips instead and makes him take slow, tiny sips, so he won't be sick again.

Sometimes - maybe once or twice, Dick cries.

It makes Lew's heart ache, and he tries to pull himself up into Dick's lap and reassure him somehow, but he's too weak and nauseated and it makes his chest tight when he moves too much, so he reaches for Dick's fingers and lets out a tiny noise of discontentment.

Dick squeezes his hand tightly and kisses his dry knuckles, murmuring things Lew can't hear or understand, and he wipes his tears away and disappears, returning with food and water and pills to help Lew feel less like he's dying.

Things jumble together after that.

Lewis isn't always sure when he's awake or dreaming. He knows reality when he sees it- but sometimes there are things crowding in at the corners of his vision that don't belong, dead bodies and blood and snow and exploding trees. Sometimes he's there in France or Belgium or Germany again, freezing in a foxhole or watching tanks and soldiers swarm those green fields.

He sees himself with Dick, all of those stolen moments they shared, in the billeted houses and six feet under the frozen earth. The desperate kisses and the hurried, breathless sex and the sleep they managed while huddled together, sharing their warmth. Sometimes he swears he can feel Dick's lips on his own again, and he kisses back like a drowning man.

Dick says Lew has a fever, says it's bad, that he might need an ice bath if it gets worse. Lew is agitated, swats him away, presses his face against a cool spot on the sheets where he hasn't soaked it through with sweat (the sheets all smell like alcohol now, it's on his breath and in his hair and coming from his pores, in every drop of sweat that crawls down the back of his neck and between his shoulders and he wishes he could have a drink, just one more, just a little one, please.)

Time isn't a concept Lew puts much thought to, so Dick tells him how many days have passed, all gentle touches and soothing voices and wet blue eyes, deep and uncharted, like the ocean. He tells Lew stories of his childhood, and the joy he'd felt when Richard Jr. was born, and Lew doesn't retain any of it but it helps him fall asleep and he's grateful for the respite from the pain of living through another day.

* * *

Lewis wakes up to an empty bed and a noticeable improvement in his physical well-being. The fever has broken, he feels cool and dry, and while the nausea still threatens like a chained animal, he doesn't feel like eating or standing will cause him to vomit. The thirst is still there; for the sake of his relationship with Dick, he tries to quench it with a glass of water.

His legs are shaky and the exertion leaves him winded, but Lew manages to reach the bottom of the staircase safely and finds Dick asleep in his clothes on the couch, his knees bent awkwardly to ensconce himself between the two armrests.

It shocks Lew how utterly exhausted Dick looks; even in sleep his brow is creased, lips curled in a troubled frown. There are rings of darkness beneath his pale lashes, purple like bruises, stark against his milky skin. It makes Lewis feel guilty. He's responsible for Dick's sleeplessness and unhappiness. Lewis Nixon is a storm by nature, blowing into people's lives and destroying everything he touches, burning all of his bridges by clinging on to people who either only hurt him or continually offer help, which he always refuses, without fail. He recognizes that Dick has only ever given to Lew, and he hadn't appreciated it until it was too late.

He feels so guilty, so unbearably disgusted with himself, it makes his stomach twist into knots and the voices in his head whisper sweetly, _you need a drink, Lewis. You don't deserve him. Why don't you just end it all? Just get it over with. There's nothing left to live for. Dick is gone already. _

Lew is pulled from his thoughts as Dick startles awake with a quiet gasp. He watches in a sullen silence as Dick blinks and heaves a shuddering sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Dick looks up and actually _jumps _when he sees Lewis standing there.

"Heck, Lew you scared me. Are you feeling better?"

Lew nods without any real affirmation. He stares at his feet and feels like dying. It's not like it's the first time he's felt this low. But Dick had never been around, much less contributing to the cause. Dick can tell he's upset, somehow. He pulls himself off of the couch (joints cracking alarmingly, he's getting older and it scares the hell out of Lew, they're already in their thirties, there isn't enough _time _left, it's slipping away from him like Dick already has.)

Dick is close now, saying something to him, a hand on his shoulder. He regrets it as soon as it happens, he's thinking _you're going to ruin everything _as he does it:

Lewis kisses him.


	3. Chapter 3

It's not a gentle kiss. Lew shoves Dick back against the wall and presses his mouth against Dick's so hard he know their lips will be bruised. Something in Lew's chest expands like a balloon, hot and insistent. Dick's hands fly to his chest as if to push him away, but he doesn't.

Lew breaks the kiss, moving back half a step before Dick grabs his wrists to stop him.

"Lew," he rasps desperately, and it's all so clear now. Lewis presses in for another rough kiss, and Dick melts into it, parting his lips and letting his eyes flutter shut. It seems obscene somehow, his stomach twisting into knots - Dick is a married man, he has a _family, _Lew has _no right- _

Dick pushes him away, this time. Lew tries not to show his hurt, tries to forget the way Dick's lips on his felt like coming home, sweet, yet painful somehow; like the way his limbs thawed after Bastogne. He takes Dick's hand in his own, running his fingers over the gold wedding band, the fine copper hairs dusting his pale skin.

"Lewis," Dick sighs. "We can't go back."

"I know," says Lew. He drops Dick's hand, a heavy sort of finality in the gesture. Dick's dark eyes meet his. "I'm keeping you away from your family. Go back home to them. I'll be alright from here."

"Okay. I-I'll call you."

"Do you want me to drive you to the station?" Lew fidgets, scratching at his cheek nervously.

"Sure," says Dick. "It's...a bit of a walk."

Lew feels guilty then; he thinks of Dick walking all that way in the dark the night he'd come to save Lew from himself. He wants to apologize, to acknowledge the lengths Dick went to to help him somehow, but all that comes out is a strained: "Okay, just let me get dressed."

* * *

The pair loiter at the train station for the better part of an hour. Lew makes small talk, as casual as if they hadn't stopped talking for two years. Inside he's cracking to pieces; he can't help but notice Dick's clipped, stilted responses. He can see the turmoil in Dick's eyes when they meet his own. Dick can't pretend like Lew can, can't fake contentedness or talk right over a broken heart. Sometimes Lew is jealous of the extent of Dick's honesty.

"Lew," Dick asks when the train is rolling up, "will you be alright?"

"Yeah," says Lew. "Sure, Dick. I'll be just fine."

"Okay," Dick says, hesitant. "You take care. Goodbye, Lew."

"Bye, Dick." Lew watches Dick trot over to the train and disappear inside the coach. When the train pulls out of the station he watches until it's gone, nothing left behind to prove it was there to begin with. The sky rumbles and begins to spit rain down on him, and Lew turns his face up, letting the drops mingle with his tears.

* * *

Lew had figured that would be the last time Dick would try to contact him, that he'd let him lick his wounds for a while.

But he was wrong.

Dick kept calling, twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays at exactly 7:30 at night. Lew never picked up. He wasn't subscribed to an answering service, so any message Dick might have liked to leave for him would never come through.

Most of the time, Lew slept. He couldn't bring himself to drink anymore - he'd taken a shot the day Dick left, but it'd made him feel so guilty he poured the rest of it down the drain and threw out his entire stash. So he stayed dry. In the absence of both Dick and the whiskey he was left feeling hollow, used up and worn out. Lew hardly left the house, these days, and when he did it was only for food - canned soup and some crackers from the gas station down the road, maybe some TV dinners if he was feeling especially hungry. More often than not, he wasn't hungry at all.

Lewis recognized that he was punishing himself, and he accepted it.

Until Blanche came tearing in through the front door unannounced after a month of it. She'd found him in bed feeling sorry for himself and dragged him out of bed and into the kitchen like a sack of potatoes, heedless of his despair.

"C'mon, Lewis, Dick said he's been calling you for weeks and you won't pick up. He knows damn well that you haven't gone anywhere."

"I don't want to talk to him," Lew grumbles, batting Blanche away. "It's over."

Blanche sighs. "You get your heart broken so easily," she observes fondly. "You feel things too much."

Lew doesn't know what to say to that. He stays silent, watching as Blanche digs through his cupboards for something to cook. She ends up making a big pot of Campbell's cream of potato soup with the last of the pasta shells and creamed corn mixed in, and after they eat she pushes him into the bathroom to shower and get dressed.

"We're going grocery shopping," she tells him, "and then you're calling Dick."

* * *

A week later, Lew steps off of the train in Hershey. He sees Dick in the crowd and briefly considers turning back, getting back on the train and slipping off at the next stop instead, but then Dick's eyes catch on him and he's stuck.

He's not sure why he agreed to do this.

Dick strides up to him with a smile. He hugs Lew and takes his bag, and they don't speak until they're both in the car together.

"It's good to see you again, Lew," he says in that quiet Pennsylvania drawl Lew loves so much.

"Likewise," Lew agrees.

"The kids can't wait to meet you. They think you're a real war hero," Dick says, chuckling. Lew tries not to sour at the thought of Dick having kids with a woman, of him loving someone other than Lew, at the reminder of Lew's own son and his lack of contact with the boy. How old is he again? Lew can't remember. Kathy doesn't write him anymore.

"I'm not a hero," Lew says, bitterness tinging the words. He thinks of basements in Europe and blood on his knuckles, voices pleading, _Bitte, bitte. Halt, bitte. _He needs a drink. Dick doesn't know what he's done.

Dick falls silent. Lew has never told him what really went on when he was called away to headquarters. He can't stomach the thought of Dick thinking he's a monster. He'd never look at him the same.

"Still off the sauce?" Dick asks.

"Yeah, still sober. Fucking nightmare."

"Lew."

"What, there's no kids in the back," Lew retorts sourly. "I'm just being honest."

Dick sighs, and it's punishment enough to see the disappointment in the clench of his jaw. Lew quiets, feeling abruptly guilty. Dick and Ethel had invited him to dinner out of benevolence, and here he is already pressing Dick's buttons. He's woefully out of touch, he realizes, and wishes he'd made a better effort at everything. Even his suit is wrinkled and smells faintly of mothballs.

It only makes him feel worse when he sees the house. He remembers that Dick built it, almost single-handedly- he cracked every stone and felled every tree, and he'd fractured his arm about halfway through and had to stop for a month before continuing. Meanwhile Lew lived in his mother's old penthouse, eating off of plates his father's money had bought and wearing clothes his mother picked out for him just before he was married to Kathy.

He can see, as soon as they step inside, that Dick had built most of the furniture himself and bought everything else from resale shops.

As he's taking his coat off a toddler comes wheeling up to them, squealing "Daddy!" and wrapping herself around Dick's leg. He smiles and reaches down to pick her up. Lew's heart aches dully at the sight before him. Her hair is the same color as Dick's.

"Jill, say hi to Lewis."

"Hi Lewis," she crows, waving at him. "I heard Daddy say you're his best friend!"

Lew manages a smile. "I certainly hope so."

It's then that Ethel comes out, carrying Jill's brother in her arms. "Lewis, it's wonderful to finally meet you." She stops just before them, smiling warmly.

"It's good to meet you too." Lew replies, ducking his head nervously.

"Dinner will be ready in a half hour," Ethel says. "Make yourself comfortable."

* * *

Lew manages to keep himself together through dinner, but after he catches Dick and Ethel trading kisses over the dishes and he can't hold it in anymore. Lew runs to the bathroom and tries to stifle his cries into a towel. After a while there comes a knock on the door.

"Lew?" It's Dick.

"I'm alright," Lew sniffles. Still, Dick opens the door, peeking in. He sees that Lew isn't otherwise occupied and steps in.

"Ethel took the kids out to put the horses in the stables," Dick says.

"Why'd you invite me here?" Lew hisses, scrubbing at his face. It's no use, the tears keep coming.

Dick sighs. "Ethel wanted to-"

"No, don't give me that excuse. You said it before, you've got a family now. We can't be together again." He turns to look up at Dick, defiant. "So why are you doing this to me?"

"Please don't," Dick rasps weakly.

"We're dragging each other down, and I don't want to do it anymore."

"I still love you, Lew," Dick gasps out. "I don't want to-...I can't just-" His face is red with emotion, his fingers tugging at the seams of his trousers restlessly. A tear spills out, rolls down his cheek.

"It's okay. Your kids need you. More than I do, Dick." Lew cups his cheek, smiles despite the way he can feel his heart shuddering in his chest. "I still love you, too. But you need to be here, with your family. And I need to- to move on."

"Don't leave me," Dick cries out suddenly. His voice cracks as he begs, "Please, Lew."

"We can't be together anymore, Dick." Lew says softly. "You know this."

Dick shakes his head vehemently and pulls Lew's fingers to his mouth, kissing them fervently. "I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I didn't want this. I only wanted you, Lew."

"You can't have me anymore," Lew croaks. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Dick."

* * *

In 1954, Lew moves to California. He realizes there's nothing keeping him in Jersey anymore, and remembers suddenly how much better he'd felt out on the West coast, in the sun, with more people like him to be friends with. Still, he struggles to stay away from the nightclubs and bars promising a cushion of comfort and numbness when he's stressed and lonely, and he slips back into drinking for a while, though it's not as bad as it'd been before.

Then he meets Grace.

She's working as a nurse at the VA hospital in San Diego when he meets her by chance at a local bookstore. She's short and distinctly Japanese, and she's in the other aisle buying medical textbooks by the dozen as Lew looks for a new recipe book. She notices him looking indecisive and ambles over, balancing her own books and smiling up at him.

"Hi," she says. "Need some help deciding? I know some good ones."

With Grace, Lew feels comfortable in his own skin again. They go on dinner dates at the local restaurants and Grace gets Lew back into sailing. It'd been like this with Dick, before his drinking got to be too much for Dick to deal with.

In 1956, they are married. It's a quiet ceremony, just Lew and Grace and her family. He doesn't invite Dick or anyone else from Easy, nor what's left of his own family. He doesn't want their opinions about the things he's done. He doesn't want to be reminded. Lew moves in with Grace and she helps him get in contact with Michael again. They adopt a one-eyed dog from the shelter and take in a stray cat, and Grace buys a black bunny when she decides three is the best number, and outside they feed a family of raccoons and a mated pair of ducks.

Lew and Grace travel the world together.

They never go to Chicago, or France, or Germany.

Dick writes him sometimes, and he goes to a handful of the Easy Company reunions, but for the most part he avoids them all. When he's diagnosed with diabetes he stops traveling and settles down in California again, and in January of 1995 he falls ill and is hospitalized for acute kidney failure. He's given a week to live if his symptoms don't improve. Dick flies in to see him and it hurts to remember what they had together, but Lew supposes he has made his peace with it.

He lets go on a chilly winter morning with no regrets.


End file.
